


Ask Not For Whom The Bell Tolls (It Tolls For They)

by Pendragyn



Series: Ineffable Bastards Universe [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), Angst, Aziraphale and Crowley Met Before The Fall (Good Omens), Bad Decisions, Celestial intimacy, Drunken Kissing, Enthusiastic Consent, Loose Canon, Lu-Tze "The Sweeper" (Discworld), M/M, Making Out While Under The Influence Of Cursed Cider, Misunderstandings, Mythology - Freeform, Nonbinary Aziraphale (Good Omens), Nonbinary Celestials, Nonbinary Crowley (Good Omens), Occult Infliences, Other, They/them prounouns, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-14 17:22:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21174485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pendragyn/pseuds/Pendragyn
Summary: It all comes back to the church in '41, and what happened and almost happened and thankfully didn't happen after the church.[This is very angsty and sad and while yes there will be a happy ending, so help me Glod, it is still a long way off as of the end of this ficlet. Also, I am not sure how to tag this because while they are very very into what they do do together, they are not thinking about the consequences of their actions due to some cursed cider.]





	1. Chapter 1

Crowley ran, ran and ran, heart pounding, almost blind with panic, hissing with pain as their foot hit the edge of consecrated ground, but it didn’t matter, because they were in time and like a snake shedding their skin the panic slipped away as they yanked open the door and hot-footed their way into the church under the confused eyes of a trio of nazis and an angel moments away from a fate worse than death.

_A church, for fuck’s sake? Can’t the angel see it’s a setup? A trap? Dealing with nazis on holy ground, giving them holy books, even if it’s supposed to be a double-cross, a double double-cross. _“Sorry, consecrated ground. Ugh, like being on the beach in bare feet.” Crowley fervently kept that thought in mind, because in reality, it was far far worse than that. Crowley was very good at imagining _not_ being on fire, and that belief was all that was keeping them from falling to ash inside that church.

Aziraphale continued to stare at Crowley in shock, for a moment wondering if they were actually hallucinating the way humans could during moments of high stress. Because consecrated ground discorporates demons, and yet. And yet, Crowley was somehow really here. _Why the he heaven is Crowley here?_ “What are you doing here?” Aziraphale hissed, the nazis and the gun momentarily forgotten.

“Stopping you from getting in trouble,” Crowley hissed back, dancing from foot to foot just an arm’s length away from Aziraphale. _Play it cool, play it cool, play it cool, if you panic you’re both done for. _

“I should have known. Of course,” said Aziraphale, not believing that for a moment, even if they couldn’t sense a lie. They’d never been able to sense a lie when it came to Crowley. Probably a punishment for still caring about a demon after everything. _Don’t fall for it again!_ “These people are working for you.”

Crowley gave Aziraphale an annoyed look. “No. They’re a bunch of half-witted nazi spies, running around London blackmailing and murdering people. I just didn’t want to see you embarrassed.” That was one way of putting it, _embarrassed_; to be the first angel kicked out of heaven since the fall. The first one dipped in boiling sulfur in two thousand years. Even thought it was all a setup, that wouldn’t stop heaven from kicking Aziraphale out, not when they’d been trying for so long.

“Mr. Anthony J. Crowley, your fame precedes you.”

“Anthony?” echoed Aziraphale in surprise. The grudging respect in the man’s voice implied that Crowley was an _adversary_ and not an _ally_, and Aziraphale’s momentary resolve to keep their distance started to crumble. _Why are they really here? It, it can’t really be just to help me. Can it?_

“You don’t like it?” Crowley asked, desperate for anything to keep the angel distracted, keep them from making a desperate choice that would send them falling, just for a little while longer.

“No, no, I didn’t say that. I’ll get used to it.” Aziraphale let out a little sigh, of regret and relief, because it was only a matter of time until Crowley hurt them again, but for now, for now they were here. Together.

“The famous Mr. Crowley. Such a pity you must both die.” Greta lifted the gun and pointed it at Crowley, wondering if that would spurn the response they were looking for from the so-called book-seller. Or perhaps from both of them, surely they’d get an even better reward if they got a bargain from two magical beings instead of just the one.

_If we get discorporated, there will be paperwork, and paperwork means explaining… Oh dear lo- somebody, if either side finds out that Crowley can go into churches..! _“What’s the ‘J’ stand for?” Aziraphale asked, trying to stall for time to figure out a way to keep them both from being discorporated. _I have made a rather big mess of things._

_Stall, stall, stall,_ Crowley kept thinking, giving the woman a sarcastic little flip from the brim of their hat, startled by Aziraphale’s question. “Oh, er, uh, just a ‘J’ really.” It was clear the nazis were getting restless and flicker of light caught Crowley’s attention. “Look at that! A whole font-full of holy water. Doesn’t even have guards.” _Keep talking you arseholes, oh thank he- hea- somebody, there’s the sirens._

“Enough babbling, kill them both.”

“In about a minute,” interjected Crowley before Aziraphale could even think to say anything, “a German bomber will release a bomb that will land, right here. If you all run away very, very fast, you might not die. You won’t enjoy dying, you definitely won’t enjoy what comes after.”

“You expect us to believe that?” Glozier smiled, looking again at their primary target, Mr. Fell. Clearly Mr. Crowley was working for someone rather powerful, to be trying so hard to keep them from capturing the book-seller. “The bombs tonight will fall on the East End.”

Crowley was finding it strangely easier and easier to be in the church the longer the conversation went on, and they were almost still as they replied, “Yes. It would take a last-minute demonic intervention to throw them off course, yes.” _Took almost every bit of power I had too, _Crowley thought, inwardly pleased to see their expressions shift at the word ‘demonic’. _That’s right, thought they’d play fair, did you? Think again!_

Aziraphale gave Crowley a look that said, _I don’t think they believe you. I don’t even believe you._

_Dammit angel! _“Look, you’re all wasting your valuable running away time! And if, eh, in 30 seconds, a bomb does land here, it would take a **real miracle** for my friend and I to survive it,” said Crowley pointedly.

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. “A, a real miracle?” They nodded to show they understood but then their eyes landed upon the open font of holy water and they completely lost their breath in that moment. A subtle flick of their fingers vanished the entire font while everyone was distracted, and they let out a faint sigh of relief to not have to test if an angelic miracle could keep a demon from being destroyed by holy water as they were all vaporized by a bomb.

“Kill them, they are very irritating,” said Harmony with a wave of his hand, picking up the bag of books. This was taking far too long, and no matter what their handler might say, Harmony knew that angels and demons didn’t exist. Delusions of lesser minds, all of it, but the money was very good, and his collection of magical books was growing by the day. _These English wizards are all the same, thinking a spell would protect them from a bullet to the brain. As though bullets can’t be enchanted as well. Played for suckers, all of them._

_Finally!_ Crowley pointed upwards as the first blasts started to echo in the distance, smiling fiercely in triumph as the nazis all looked upwards with dawning horror, and resorted to casting a small demonic miracle, having no more magic of their own to rely on until they'd had time for it to replenish.

Aziraphale looked up too, slapping their hat on their head and grounding themself, casting the miracle outward over Crowley, pouring their own power into it as the blast wave and flames and debris battered against it. They floated in the center of the destruction for a timeless while and then the dust settled and the miracle was done, leaving them both unharmed amidst the rubble.

Crowley staggered a bit, relieved that the burning sensation was gone and squinted through their dusty glasses, relieved to see Aziraphale standing rooted to their spot as they slowly came back to themself, no surprise considering the magnitude of the miracle they’d just pulled off. Crowley pulled a handkerchief from their pocket to wipe their glasses clean, smiling a little to themself. The foreboding of danger was gone and hell and heaven had both been thwarted.

It took a moment for Aziraphale to come back to themself, respectfully pulling off their hat as it was still consecrated ground, and looked around in dismay at the destruction. Their eyes alighted on Crowley, looking for all the world as though it were any other day as they nonchalantly cleaned their glasses amid the smoldering ruins of a church. A church that would probably still be standing if Aziraphale hadn’t gotten it into their head to ‘help’ in spite of heaven being unwilling to do so. “That was very kind of you.”

_Kind? Was it particularly kind of me when I stupidly reminded hell of your existence? Kind? To almost drag you down with me again? More like unforgivable._ Crowley said none of that, instead saying, “Shut up,” as they defensively shoved their glasses back onto their face before Aziraphale could see anything in their eyes.

“Well, it was.” Aziraphale didn’t know how to reconcile it; Crowley, _the demon_, had, at great personal risk, done something far beyond kind. “No paperwork, for a start,” Aziraphale joked weakly, gasping as realization hit. “Oh, the books! Oh, I forgot all the books! Oh, they’ll all be blown to...” Aziraphale stared in shock and then wonder as Crowley prized the intact bag of books from, well best to not think about it, and held it out to Aziraphale, that little smile curling their lips that always invited you in on the joke.

“Little demonic miracle of my own. Lift home?” Crowley had to make themself walk away after the jolt they’d felt from their hands brushing. They didn’t let themself look back, stalking away and wondering if Aziraphale would accept the offer. Almost hoped the angel wouldn’t, knowing they themself didn’t have the willpower to stay away, not when the angel looked at them the way they had as they’d accepted the books. As though it was a real courting gift, as though something lasting could come of it. As though Aziraphale had ever felt as Crowley had and still did.

Aziraphale looked down at the bag and up at Crowley’s retreating back, and inwardly at their own jumble of feelings and those that had come through with their first physical contact in centuries. _Love. _Their heart soared with terror and hope. _They love me._ _They love me! As much as I love them!_ The euphoria was gone in an instant. _In love, with a demon. A demon strong enough to walk on consecrated ground. How can this be anything but a trap?_ Aziraphale’s eyes drifted back down to the books, at war with themself, but called out, “Wait!”

Crowley stopped at the verge of the church’s property, at war with themself, but turned to face Aziraphale as they scrambled cautiously over the wreckage. “Their car should be around here somewhere.”

“Oh, I, I suppose so,” Aziraphale agreed, putting their hat back on and falling into step with Crowley. “It’s not that far to walk. Did it on the way here.”

“Might be another pass tonight. Might be they had friends. Rather be able to get out fast,” said Crowley, relieved to spot an undamaged car down the road a ways. Crowley snarled silently at the lingering scent of demon in the vehicle, but it was too faint to identify. “To the bookstore? I mean, if you’re still in the same building,” they covered when Aziraphale gave them a startled look.

“I am,” Aziraphale admitted, sitting stiffly in the passenger seat, clinging desperately to the books as Crowley started the engine and zoomed away. They wondered, at how much Crowley might have forgotten in the years they had been apart. Did they remember anything of their friendship before the fall, or just their infrequent times together after? It was probably too much to hope they’d bothered to remember much, after removing themself so completely from Aziraphale’s life, but, _but_, for Aziraphale to be able to sense their love, after so long apart… It had to be more than just nostalgia, more than just a fondness for an old friend, didn’t it?

It was a blessedly short trip and when Crowley stopped at the darkened book store, Aziraphale found themself saying, “Would you like a drink? I owe you at least that.”

Crowley stared at them for a long moment, still fighting themself over doing what was best and doing what they so desperately wanted, and finally gave a mute nod of agreement, following Aziraphale inside. It was dusty, in a way that surprised Crowley, with the books stacked haphazardly and covered in cobwebs, and a faint smell of mildew and rot that was too real to be an illusion. “Let it go a bit,” Crowley blurted, following Aziraphale into the back where their little apartment was set up. It wasn’t much, a little kitchenette, a table with a few chairs piled high with books, a dusty wardrobe in a corner and a couch that had seen better days. It had all seen better days and when Aziraphale cautiously lit a little oil lamp by the stove Crowley realized that even the angel was looking the worse for wear around the edges.

“Oh, yes, some,” said Aziraphale, carefully pulling the books from the bag and returning them to their spots on the only shelf that had been dusted with any regularity. “Didn’t seem much point in opening since the war started.” They frowned to see Crowley still standing and hastily shuffled books off the table and chairs.

“No, I suppose not,” Crowley murmured, taking a seat. It was bittersweet being back there, the first time since Paris, remembering Aziraphale’s excitement as they talked about how they were going to organize the shop and what they were going to do to keep customers to a minimum.

Aziraphale also sat but bounced back up, twisting their ring nervously as they chattered and went to dig out something to drink. “I, er, I made a deal with a farmer, for them to keep my more valuable things on their farm so I’m afraid the best I can offer you is cider—”

“It’s fine, angel,” Crowley soothed, reaching out but quickly withdrawing before Aziraphale could notice the gesture. “You don’t have to give me anything in return. For old time’s sake.”

“I’ll never drink it alone,” Aziraphale told the cabinet truthfully, afraid to turn around and see pity on Crowley’s face. Drinking alone made them remember, made them think of all the things they’d lost. Who they’d lost. “Be a favor to me, really, if you help me get rid of it.”

Crowley knew they should go, but Aziraphale had been their friend, had been their only friend, their _best_ friend, for years on end, and they couldn’t leave, not without a little more stolen time in their company. Not hearing that desperately lonely note in their voice that they could feel like a stab to the heart and knew they’d hear in their own voice if they let it. Maybe there’d be a chance to make them laugh at some silly joke, a chance to once more see the laugh lines crinkle around their eyes as they pretended to scold for some thing or another. “Well, be a shame to let it go to waste.”

**∞**

What was at first hesitant and stilted conversation eventually eased as they kept to safe topics, mostly complaining about their bosses, which soon eased even further into shared memories of days long gone. The night wore on and as the supply of very strong, specially made and definitely not blessed, more like the opposite of blessed cider diminished, so did their inhibitions and higher thought processes.

The demon was on a rambling monologue about spies and double agents that Aziraphale had zoned out of an hour earlier, and they were instead just watching Crowley as they got up to pour themself another drink; taking in every movement and gesture, the curve of their cheek, the gleam of lamplight on their fiery hair. When they turned and looked over the top of their glasses to give Aziraphale an inviting grin, the angel lost their breath at the emotions that seized around their heart like a fist. _I love them. I love them so much._

Aziraphale couldn’t hear anything but their heart pounding in their ears as they sank back onto the couch and unfurled their wings and their auras just so, a plea and an offering, holding out their hands, their throat too full of emotion to say anything but, “Crowley.”

Crowley’s empty glass slipped from their fingers and bounced away, and their glasses soon followed as they were drawn across the space by the absolutely radiant love pouring from Aziraphale’s eyes. “Aziraphale,” they breathed, unfurling their own wings, gasping as their outer auras met and meshed, and then their lips were on Aziraphale’s and their hands were sinking into blond curls and shimmering feathers, holding on for dear life as Aziraphale kissed them back. “Aziraphale!” It was an oath and a prayer as their inner auras brushed, and mingled and meshed and they moaned against each other’s lips. “Yes!”

“Yes!” A mindlessly jubilant euphoria blazed within Aziraphale like a wildfire at the contact, searing away all caution. They didn’t even consider the superficial, and therefore safe, unions afforded by physical or auraic touch, instead surrendering to the soul-deep yearning that had simmered unacknowledged for millennia, murmuring, “For you, Crowley, anything for you—”

Crowley was seized by a senselessly fierce exultant joy that jolted through them like lightning when they said those words, and they threw caution to the wind when the radiance of Aziraphale’s firmament brushed their outer aura, bringing them only a thought away from reciprocating when a bell, _a church-bell,_ deep and sonorous and painfully loud rang out and continued to ring with a sense of desperation.

Crowley wretched themself out of Aziraphale’s embrace, pressing their hands over their ears, gasping for breath, horrified at what they’d almost done. They’d been a heartbeat away from turning their best friend into a demon, from dragging Aziraphale down to hell by selfishly taking advantage of their generous and caring nature. Had been moments from destroying the one thing in the entire universe they cared about more than life itself. Saved them from a betrayal only to be the one to almost cause their fall instead. What kind of monster does that? _Unforgivable._

“Crowley?” What had just a moment earlier been euphoria crashed and burned beneath the disgust in Crowley’s eyes and the reality of what they had almost done. Crowley had put themself in harm’s way to help a friend, and their so-called friend had almost doomed them in return with their pathetic neediness. What kind of pathetic fool mistakes physical desire for a courting overture? If Crowley hadn’t recoiled, the mingling of their firmaments would have marked Crowley as a traitor to hell and they would have been destroyed for it, and it would have been entirely Aziraphale’s fault. “Crowley, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, please—”

“No, no,” Crowley murmured as they backed away and when Aziraphale reached out, they fled. And worse than the still ringing church bell was the sound of Aziraphale’s pleading sobs echoing in Crowley’s mind, begging the unforgivable for forgiveness.

**∞**

Lu-Tze rang and rang the bell, smiling nastily as the little clutch of shadowy figures lurking outside the bookshop fled west, and kept on ringing until the last dark figure ran out from inside the bookshop, too pained by the ringing to think to flee with the nazi car they’d taken, and disappeared into the rain away from where the others had bolted. Lu-Tze let his arms drop and the helpers he’d recruited from the neighborhood all wilted with relief and exhaustion, setting the heavy bell down onto the roof of the café. Later they would return the bell to the fallen church and no one would know it had gone.

“Is Fell injured?” Grandmother Chan asked anxiously, bundled in multiple layers against the cold and the rain, staring over the side of the roof at the bookshop for any further sign of life.

“Not physically,” Lu-Tze answered honestly, carefully lowering himself down beside her, most of his fury and frustration burned away by the effort of carrying and then ringing the bell. “In their heart, their soul…” He sighed and nodded. “I wish there’d been another way. A better way. There’s a worryingly high chance they might never recover from this.”

“They’re too powerful right now,” said Grandmother Chan, “Too much power for them to draw on to be easily thwarted. Too many people willing to do casual evils for their own gain.”

“Like whoever made that damned cider,” Lu-Tze murmured, lighting a cigarette. “It’s all over the place. They’re calling it ‘suicider’, did you know? At least five dead and thirty injured because of it in some way.”

“It must be strong, to work on… whatever Fell is.” Grandmother Chan was looking at him sidelong.

“Angel,” he answered. “And their friend is a demon. Part of why we had to stop them, it’d’ve been the death of them and we need them alive and kicking.” He pulled a scrap of vellum from his pocket, shielding it from the rain as he showed it to her.

_If the worlde is to be safed and safed and safe again, bring ye Dunstan’s fallen belle to Fell and ring ye Dunstan’s fell belle welle, ring in the dawn to brake the East and banish the West, for hearts enjoined amidst the twisted suns’ war will be sundered and Fell shall fall and the Fallen shall be lost in darkness._

Grandmother Chan looked up from the paper, and back over at the bookshop. “‘_Hearts enjoined._’ You mean they’re… how tragic. Is there any hope for them?” she asked.

“More now than there had been ten minutes ago,” Lu-Tze said, putting the prophecy away. It was one of a small collection Agnes had given him after their one and only meeting. “There are a lot of obstacles in their way, including themselves.”

She opened her mouth to reply but sucked in a breath, hissing an order for everyone to get down.

Lu-Tze peered over the side of the roof, knowing what would be there but gasping all the same to see the being they knew as Aziraphale silhouetted forlornly in the door to their shop, shimmering white wings dragging in a way that signaled mortal injury in a bird, their haggard face turned up to the sky and the pelting cold rain. “Damn their enemies for this.” Lu-Tze muttered, glaring at the sky as lightning flashed overhead and he realized that Aziraphale was courting a smiting by showing themself so openly. _Suicider indeed._ “May they be dissolved in holy water and devoured by hellfire and smited by those they’ve wronged!”

Grandmother Chan gave him a concerned frown. “You know better than to say those sorts of things, cousin. What kind of fate will you speak into existence?”

Lu-Tze’s smile was as sharp as a serpent’s and almost as old. “If we’re lucky, the one that will come to be and is so very richly deserved.”


	2. Sweeping Up

The demon Andras, Great Marquis of Hell, was lurking outside the remains of what had been a church a few hours earlier. In some ways it was still a church- sanctity wasn’t erased by disaster after all- and desecration could only be done by humans who believed in consecration to begin with. So, for now, Andras was forced to avoid the holy ground as they awaited the arrival of the Archangel Raphael.

The arch-demon had come alone, unwilling to risk even a Legion seeing them together with an angel. Hell might be happy to reap the rewards of clandestine meetings and secret agreements between the sides, but appearances must be kept and Andras had no desire to spend an eternity in the pits, no matter how brief it would be in return for the power to be gained from bargaining with their hereditary enemies.

Andras grinned to themself when they caught the sound of stumbling footsteps moving closer and began creeping towards the sound, hoping for a human to scare and get a nice boost of fear to feed off of, only to pull up short when they saw the black-winged figure stumbling drunkenly up the sidewalk, surrounded by a familiar miasma of bitter apples. _What the Heaven? What are they doing here?_ _What’s their name again? Cr something. Crowley, that’s it. _Andras watched Crowley for a long moment as they considered the likelihood of a demon just happening to show up at this specific place, a church nonetheless, drunk off their arse on cursed cider that had been made to trick an angel into falling._ So, Crowley helped the angel escape the trap. Why?_ _And Crowley can hide themself and others from the Lords of Hell and the Archangels. Interesting. That could prove useful._

They frowned when they got a good look at the posture of Crowley’s wings as they stumbled past where Andras was hiding. The feathers were tattered from the pain Andras could see on their face and being dragged on the ground, and the arch-demon gasped in shock. _The fool must’ve had a pact with the angel. And the angel spurned them under the influence of the cursed cider. Apparently they didn’t learn their lesson when we were kicked out, that angels can’t be trusted to do anything that isn’t in their best interest._ They stopped breathing entirely when Crowley crossed into the remains of the church. _Cowley can walk on consecrated ground!?_

Andras bolted around to the side of the property, trying to keep Crowley in view as they stumbled and crawled across the holy ground to collapse at the base of a stone statue of some winged creature. They shivered with foreboding when Crowley let out a wordless wail of despair and lightning roared overhead, the clouds releasing a torrent of rain in response. _What _are_ you? _

**∞**

With the storm worsening and Aziraphale showing no sign of withdrawing back into the bookshop, Lu-Tze decided to intervene before someone or thing could find them in their vulnerable state. He went cautiously, watching the street warily, but it was deserted in the early morning hours, no one going out who didn’t need to be out. He gently called, “Aziraphale?” as he approached, and then again when he was within range of those massive wings, tattered and heavy with grief and rain. “Aziraphale? Friend?”

Slowly, the angel looked towards him, too lost in the cursed despair to realize the danger they were in. Or too lost in it to care. “Lu-Tze?”

“Yes. Please, friend, come inside with me? I, I need your help,” Lu-Tze said, daring to step closer and touch Aziraphale’s arm. “Please? It’s very dangerous for you out here.” There was another flash of lightning and the windows of the shop rattled with the thunder. “And me. Definitely not lightning proof.”

Aziraphale closed their eyes and shuddered a little, struggling against the influence of the cider. “I didn’t know it was possible to hurt so much and not discorporate,” they said hoarsely, pressing a hand to the terrible ache over their heart. Lightning blazed across the sky and thunder boomed and Aziraphale opened their eyes again and laughed bitterly. “Empty threats and lies. Do it, then,” they told the sky, getting lost in their despair. “If, if we’d… at least we’d be together...”

“You’d be dead,” Lu-Tze growled, cringing a little when another lightning bolt roared overhead and the downpour started in earnest. “And your friend with you.”

Aziraphale blinked owlishly at him. “What?”

“They’d destroy you!” he yelled over the storm. “You don’t want to be dead! Or your friend!”

Aziraphale looked at Lu-Tze in bewilderment, face drawn with pain, eyes glazed over from the curse. “Yes. I killed my friend. My fault.”

“No! Your friend is still alive.” Lu-Tze gently pulled on Aziraphale’s arm, turning them back towards the door of the shop. “People need you, Aziraphale. Don’t, you can’t let them win! Please, come inside.” When they finally nodded he pulled them inside and quietly asked, “Can you put your wings away?”

“I, oh… sorry.” Aziraphale pressed their hands to their face and willed their wings back to the ether, shivering as the water that had been in the feathers splashed them both. A long moment of concentration had them both dry. “I can’t get sober,” Aziraphale confessed, letting Lu-Tze lead them to the couch in the back room. “I tried, so I could go after Crowley, but I can’t.” Tears welled and fell and they were lost again in the terrible influence of the cursed cider. “My fault, all my fault. I’ve lost Crowley again. I’ve lost them forever this time. My best friend, my heart, my everything. I destroy everything I love.”

“No, Aziraphale, that’s the damned cider talking,” said Lu-Tze, covering them with the blanket. “I’m going to make sure your friend is safe. I swear, but promise me you’ll stay here.”

“Okay. I’m sorry,” Aziraphale murmured, closing their eyes and curling up on the couch, not really aware of Lu-Tze as he grabbed the last bottle of cider. “Tell them I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too,” said Lu-Tze, shaking his head in dismay at the number of empty jugs around the room. _No wonder they’re such a mess_. _There was enough suicider here to kill a couple dozen people. Thank you Agnes._

“The church,” Aziraphale said. “Need t’go back to th’church. Crowley’s... in... danger.” Exhaustion combined with the cider dragged Aziraphale into a mindless stupor and Lu-Tze blew out the lamp and locked the door after himself, hurrying to catch up with the others as they carried the bell back to the fallen church.

**∞**

Andras let out a sigh of relief when Crowley fell into a stupor and the raging storm began to abate. Would’ve been unpleasant to have to explain why a Marquis of Hell was discorporated by lightning while lurking outside of a bombed out church in the middle of a thunderstorm. And it might’ve made them forget all the interesting things they’d learned while lurking.

In a thoughtful state of mind, they began walking around the large property, pulling up short near the rear of the churchyard when they caught a whiff of fresh brimstone that signaled a recently opened dread portal. _My my my, you are proving full of surprises, aren’t you Crowley. You shouldn’t be able to do that. You shouldn’t be able to do a lot of things. Makes me wonder what your counterpart can do that Heaven doesn’t know about. Makes me wonder what you’ll do when you wake up and realize you and your little friend are at my mercy._

**∞**

It was eerily silent around the remains of the church, and Lu-Tze and his helpers moved with great caution, carefully carrying the cloth-wrapped bell back onto the property and depositing it back where they had found it amid the rubble. Lu-Tze gave them mute nods of gratitude and saw them off before stealthily moving across the debris field in search of Crowley.

He found the demon curled up beneath a large statue of an eagle, clearly caught in the same stupor that had befallen Aziraphale, and carefully used the swath of cloth that had muffled the bell to hide them from view, hiding himself moments before a bolt of lightning shot down from the sky near where the door of the church had been. An angel coalesced into human seeming amid the remains of the church, looking around as they dusted themselves off.

“Andras? Are you here? Ah, there you are. Fear not, you may walk here unharmed,” said the angel with a facetious wave of their hand towards the shadowy figure lurking at the edge of the sanctified ground. “Come on, we don’t want to be overheard.”

Andras reluctantly moved across the remains of the threshold, closer to the angel. “Why’d you call me here, Raphael,” growled the demon, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, the burn of holy ground held at bay by the angel’s invitation but the threat of it still sizzled disconcertingly against their awareness.

“You know why, Andras. Your side can’t see us and mine won’t think to look here.” Raphael took a moment to pick some imaginary lint from Andras sleeve before speaking again. “You said the cursed cider would work on an angel. That they’d absorb the taint of hellfire and the curse of recklessness and therefor fall all the more easily to temptation.”

“I said it could work, _could_,” Andras corrected. “It’s not exactly a science, crafting a curse. The opposite actually. Hellfire doesn’t abide by the laws of physics you know. And do you know how hard it is to work with hellfire on Earth? I went through three year’s allotment of Legions to maintain the vent into the distillery, and we only got thirty bottles!” They dusted a bit of ash off of Raphael’s shoulder. “And this is the thanks I get for it.”

“Is it really gratitude that you’re looking for? Don’t act like you’re not thrilled with this war!” Raphael laughed. “This is the most powerful you’ve ever been. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? I could be trying to step in, couldn’t I? Trying to thwart. But I’m not. All I asked in return was for a way to make an angel fall. You, of everyone, are the best at stirring up discontentment and discord. I want to try again.”

Andras was not taken in by the flattery or the threats. They’d known Raphael far too long to fall for that anymore. “Then tell me why you’re trying to make them fall. I need specifics, Raphael, not generalities. You can’t apply a lever without a fulcrum. Otherwise it’s just a stick.”

Raphael frowned in annoyance at the demon’s cleverness, wishing that for once Andras would just leave well enough alone. “Why? You didn’t need to know the first time. Shouldn’t you just be pleased to have another soul to bolster your ranks for the war to come?”

Andras shook their head and clucked their tongue. “I might have been content to work against an angel but now you’ve piqued my interest. What did this little Earthbound angel do to garner your malice?” Andras cajoled, “It must be something big, for you to be willing to go through all this trouble all over again.”

Raphael scowled, knowing Andras wouldn’t be distracted from getting an answer once they were interested and admitted, “It happened long before you came along, so you probably don’t know this but Aziraphale is… a relic. From before Eden, before the Garden. They were supposed to end up on your side, but somehow escaped falling. The only one who did.” They let out a frustrated sigh. “The others don’t care.”

Andras laughed, amused by the angel’s frustration and recalled that Crowley was also from before the Garden. _Ah. How very interesting._ “Ohh, now it becomes clearer. Some Celestial nobody thwarted the collective scheming of the Council of Heaven, purely by accident. They outdid you and you just can’t stand that, can you? But, clearly the Almighty had a use for them, Raphael,” they taunted. “Must be part of the Great Plan.”

Raphael sneered, “Ridiculous. There’s nothing that little nobody could do to affect the Great Plan.”

“Now, now, Raphael, I believe you were the one who invented the parable about the mustard seed,” pressed Andras. “David took down the Goliath. A little pressure in the right place...”

“Their continued existence within the Host is a threat!” Raphael growled at the smirk growing across Andras’ face. “You know the laws of contagion. They _belong_ with you lot.”

Andras shrugged, enjoying seeing the angel squirming for once. “I did everything you demanded of me. _You_ said they’d make a deal to escape. I had them get the boilers going downstairs and everything.”

“I said they might make a deal, _might_. Clearly your human agents weren’t persuasive enough. That was why we bought up every other bit of alcohol in the area, so they’d have to drink the cider,” Raphael snapped. “Why couldn’t we put it in food? I know they eat food regularly.”

“Because hellfire has a distinctive taste,” Andras snapped in return. “No one chooses to eat brimstone.”

Raphael shook their head in annoyance but sighed when Andras didn’t back down. “I’ll have to take your word for it. But I’m beginning to think someone must have intervened on their behalf. It had to have been a demon,” they said with an arch look at Andras. “_Real angels_ know better than to disobey.”

“It couldn’t have been a demon,” laughed Andras, unable to keep the triumphant gleam from their eye, waving at their surroundings. “Walking on holy ground? Even if they did want to stupidly risk everything for an angel, they couldn’t! Your little Earthbound principality couldn’t make it safe for them.”

Raphael’s eyes narrowed and Andras hissed at the sudden heat seeping up from the sanctified ground beneath their feet. “Who said anything about a demon walking on holy ground?” Raphael asked, watching Andras’ face go still when they realized their slip up. “You never could keep a secret from me,” Raphael said lowly, circling around the demon. “Tell me, Andras. Tell me who can walk on holy ground. Tell me, and you won’t have to explain to the Dark Council why you were discorporated by an Archangel on holy ground.”

“Raphael-” Andras cursed as the holiness began to sear the soles of their feet. “Crowley! It was Crowley! I saw them, damn you!” They let out a sigh of relief as the burning eased, glowering at the triumphant angel.

“You saw them walk on holy ground,” Raphael repeated. “When?”

“Earlier. Before you got here.” They kept their eyes glued on Raphael, not looking away as the archangel looked around the ruins suspiciously.

“How?” Raphael demanded incredulously. “And why?”

“No idea,” said Andras honestly, their attention momentarily caught by the strangely intact and dustless bell sitting nearby. _That wasn’t here earlier._ “Maybe they were trying to make Aziraphale fall themselves. They’d get a lot of clout if they managed to bring down an angel.”

Raphael frowned. “I suppose that’s possible.”

“Why else would a demon do anything for an angel, if not to tempt them?” Andras said flippantly, but they couldn’t help thinking again of the dragging wings and the despairing wail. They let their eyes wander over to the ugly statue where they’d last seen Crowley. It loomed behind Raphael, the creature’s soot-blackened wings mockingly arching upwards behind the angel who was plotting the downfall of one of their own. And they saw, there amid the shadows and debris, flame-yellow eyes, watching them.

“Revenge?” Raphael said stiffly, not liking what Andras was saying. “You mean tricking the angel into thinking they were there to help, and then betraying them in some way?”

Andras shrugged, looking away from the shadows to smile slyly at Raphael. “Or… Maybe the little bastard angel is stronger than you think. Maybe they’ve managed to redeem a demon.”

“Aziraphale?” Raphael laughed. “Nonsense, Andras. I suppose we’ll find out the truth when we go talk to them, hmm?” they said, looking around the ruins again. “It won’t matter though, not with having Crowley’s secret as leverage. Either they bait Aziraphale into falling or Aziraphale gives themself up to save the demon and then I’ve got them! Finally!”

Andras stared at Raphael, for a moment not recognizing them with the gleam of unholy triumph in their eyes. “And what happens to Crowley? Once Aziraphale is out and you’ve gotten your purified Host?”

“You know the answer to that. We can’t have a demon that can walk on holy ground! It would upset the order of things.” The glee that had seeped into Raphael’s voice drained away and their feeling of triumph soured to hear that bitter note in Andras’ voice. “We all know you demons can’t trust one another. You know they’d use it against the rest of you in some way. You’re not getting sentimental all of a sudden, are you? You’re certainly unable to feel love or any other positive emotion, so it couldn’t possibly be that.”

“It’s not as though _I’ve_ ever experienced being loved, to notice the lack,” Andras said blandly, refusing to rise to the bait. They shrugged negligently when Raphael scowled. “I couldn’t even begin to speculate why a demon would risk themself for an angel. Probably resorted to extortion. Threats of violence work well too.” Andras stared past them at their own memories for a long moment, nodding at what they saw and didn’t see and came a decision. “Tell me, Raphael, why _did_ you turn to a demon for help? More so, why would you need to? How morally corrupt would you have to be to resort to that?” Raphael glowered at them but didn’t try to respond. “Unless we aren’t so different after all. Maybe we’re all selfish bastards at the core. Aren’t we, _angel_.”

Raphael stalked across the space and grabbed Andras’ by their shirt, confused when Andras’ eyes went wide with terror as the stone font materialized out of the air and crashed down beside them, holy water sloshing over the side in a wave, right towards them.

“Raphael!” gasped Andras, hands knotting in Raphael’s clothes.

“No, Andras!” The words were ripped from Raphael as they desperately tugged Andras out of the way and miracled the holy water back into the basin. They stood together for a moment, both of them trembling as they clung to one another. “Where the hell did that come from,” Raphael growled, turning to scour the church grounds with eyes ablaze, still holding Andras close.

“Aziraphale,” said Andras. “Must have miracled it to protect their demon friend.” Their eyes were wide when Raphael turned to look at them. “Raphael —”

“Don’t,” said Raphael, closing their eyes when Andras reached up to rest their hand on the angel’s cheek. “Don’t,” they pleaded.

“You do remember,” Andras breathed. “I thought you’d forgotten.”

“Of course I remember,” Raphael said hoarsely. “But I swore an oath to obey.”

“And what has it turned you into, Raphael? Turned us into? Plotting to destroy an angel? Utter destruction of a demon? And for what? Because they were foolish enough to love one another more than the ones who conquered them?” Andras said pointedly. “When do we say no, Raphael? When do we say enough.?”

“Damn you,” the angel growled with no heat in their words. “I knew this was a bad idea. Tempter.”

“Yes,” said Andras eagerly. “Come away with me, Raphael. We don’t have to play by their rules anymore. Eventually they will destroy one another and we will be free of them,” said the demon, gently wiping the tears from Raphael’s cheeks. “We’ve waited this long, what’s a little longer? At least we’ll be together and free.”

“They’ll know,” Raphael protested. “They won’t let us get away.”

“Not if they think we’re dead.” Andras looked pointedly at the holy water. “If we leave these bodies behind, I can arrange for them to be destroyed. They’ll say we fought and were too evenly matched.”

“They who? Andras, we can’t risk letting anyone know!”

“Crowley.”

Raphael gasped and turned to look where Andras was staring. Hidden within a bundle of cloth, huddled beneath the soot stained wings of the eagle, two wide yellow eyes were watching them. “Why would they-”

“We don’t tell their secret, they don’t tell ours.” From under the cloth was a nod.

“It’ll never work.” Raphael shook their head but they were weakening. A moment’s reflection revealed a glimpse of themself they didn’t like and a moment’s premembering had their heart soaring with hope.

“It will. I’d rather die trying than live without you anymore,” said Andras ardently. “Come with me.”

“How? Andras—” Raphael gasped when Andras grinned in triumph and pressed their lips to the angel’s and they eagerly kissed the demon back. “This is madness, Andras, we’ll both be dead. It can’t be this easy.”

“They’ll have to find us first, and it’s a mighty big universe, Raphael. Here, stand here,” said Andras, shuffling them around so that Raphael’s back was towards the statue and their own back was pressed to the edge of the basin, shivering in fear and excitement. “Do you trust me, angel?”

Raphael stared at them for a long moment, trembling at what they were daring to do. “Damn me, I do.”

“When I say go, you go,” Andras said. “Don’t hesitate, don’t look back, just go.”

“You’d better be with me or I swear on all that’s holy I will hunt you down,” Raphael growled as more tears trailed down their face, a mix of terror and joy.

“Good.” Andras gave them a brief kiss and looked over Raphael’s shoulder and nodded, yelling, “Go!”

Light erupted from the two forms and surged away as Andras’ vacant corporeal form toppled backward into the basin, and holy water splashed and sizzled as the vacant corporeal form of Raphael collapsed silently on top of them when a ceramic jug came winging out of the darkness and crashed into the back of the head, coating it in the last of the cursed cider. The blast wasn’t strong, but it was blindingly bright as the cider ignited from the heat of the holy flames, releasing the hellfire that had been so carefully distilled into it, blowing away the blessings that had sanctified the church and its bell and peppering the area with flecks of obsidian almost too tiny to be seen except as a haze of dark glitter.

It was over in a moment and Lu-Tze uncovered his eyes, blinking at the lingering spots as the last wisps of ash and embers drifted away from where the corporeal forms of the archangel and the arch-demon had been. He looked skyward and saw the last bright spark of them vanish into the sun as it peeked out from among the clouds. He’d about had a heart attack when the arch-demon had spotted him, had been sure Crowley was done for when the archangel had turned to glare in their direction. That was going to haunt him and he couldn’t even have a drink or ten to try and forget, not if he was going to keep his promise to Aziraphale and keep an eye on Crowley until they sobered up.

He shakily pulled out a cigarette only to stare at it and toss it away as he went in search of a better hiding spot, because it seemed likely things were going to get even more interesting in short order.

**∞**

Crowley, having already gained a resistance to hellfire upon their fall into the boiling sulphur, had been able to rouse themself when they heard voices nearby. It had been disconcerting to find themself bundled in cloth with their wings still out, even more so to discover that they couldn’t clear the drink from their system, but there had been no time to worry about it when they’d realized _who_ was talking and they’d furled their wings away and had listened to the archangel and the arch-demon talking.

Fury had begun to burn within Crowley as the conversation went on, fueled by the cursed cider, only for it to shift into something they didn’t have a name for when the holy water had reappeared and the unthinkable happened. An archangel saving an arch-demon. No one would believe it. Crowley could barely believe it themself.

Which was good, because barely five minutes after their forms had been destroyed beyond ash, a dozen each of angels and demons coalesced outside the church to investigate, led by Gabriel and Beelzebub. Crowley stayed where they were, too tired to try to hide from so many. They wondered at who had thrown the jug of apparently cursed cider that they recognized as coming from the shop. It couldn’t have been Aziraphale, they’d know if the angel was nearby. And no way Andras would have entrusted a demon with enacting their plan, that crazy impossible plan. _A human? It must have been. Oh, someone, I hope they found a place to hide._

“What happened here?” Gabriel demanded of the world at large. “We received word that Archangel Raphael was discorporated here, but they haven’t returned to Heaven.”

“Marquis Andras wasz also discorporated around here,” buzzed Beelzebub. “They have not returned to Hell. They were working on zsomething secretive that they would not disclose to usz.”

Gabriel sighed and nodded. “Same with Raphael. But why come here?” they said, sneering at the wreckage. “The Council of Heaven decreed that we are to keep away from war zones.”

“Yez,” agreed Beelzebub. “We have noticed your absence.”

“Well, thank you for that,” said Gabriel with a nod in their direction. “Is that one of yours over there?”

“It izz. Perhaps they saw something.”

“You!” Crowley jerked upright and got unsteadily to their feet when Beelzebub and Gabriel picked their way across the ruins. “What happened here?”

“Bomb,” said Crowley, looking at the archangel as though they were daft. “Clearly.”

“Not the building, who cares about that? There was an archangel, you probably wouldn’t know them, Raphael?” When Crowley just stared blankly, Gabriel rolled their eyes and shared a look with Beelzebub.

Beelzebub frowned and leaned towards Crowley, sniffing the air. “Are you drunk?”

“Yup,” said Crowley. “V’ry.”

Beelzebub sighed and shook their head at Gabriel, who made a face and asked slowly and loudly, “Did you see anyone here? In this area? One like them,” pointing at Beelzebub, “and one like me?”

“Yes...” Crowley admitted, struggling against the drink and the curse to not say too much and to not lie. Definitely would be a bad idea to be caught in a lie to a Lord of Hell and the Archangel Gabriel. “I hid.” They waved to the cloth pooled at their feet.

“What were they doing?”

“Talking. Then they fought,” said Crowley. “Then there was holy water and someone threw something and there was an explosion,” Crowley made a gesture with their hands, “boom! And they were gone.”

“Holy water!” Beelzebub snarled, glaring at Gabriel, who held up their hands placatingly.

“Someone threw something?” said Gabriel. “And it caused an explosion?” When Crowley nodded they shook their head in bewilderment. They and Beelzebub moved far enough away to not be overheard and whispered, “Look, Raphael wouldn’t go against the treaty, you know that. But if someone was throwing _things _that _explode_ when they come in contact with _holy water_? You know there are some, _others_, who are not pleased with our little, game shall we say? I’m thinking someone took advantage while they were distracted.”

“That… iz pozzible,” Beelzebub admitted, looking around the ruins and spotting the toppled over font, seared black and partially melted by the heat and cracked by the explosion. “Look at thisz.” They trailed their finger over the soot and sniffed it, giving Gabriel a wide eyed look. “This iszz from hellfire.”

“How in Heaven’s name could one of them get a hold of _hellfire_?” Gabriel hissed, giving the watching archangels a falsely bright smile and little wave. “Almost have it sorted!”

The Lord of Hell quickly stood. “You know they can get in along the edgesz, where the monsters and Things are. Look, we can’t let it get out that there are othersz who can destroy us, it’ll be a riot. This was just two old enemies getting carried away, tragic and zso on. You tell your lot, I tell mine, and we get out of here before whoever decides to come back.” Beelzebub glared over Gabriel’s shoulder at Crowley, but shook their head dismissively when they saw they were draping the cloth around themself like a robe, covering their head as it started to rain again. “That one’s so drunk I doubt they’ll remember any of this.”

Gabriel snorted, sneering at Crowley when they slouched against the eagle statue. “They won’t, if they know what’s good for them.” The scowl transformed into a sad smile as they walked back to the edge of the church and began explaining to the others what had happened.

Beelzebub just barked out, “The idiotsz destroyed one another. Anyone caught with hellfire without the proper formsz will be sent to the pits!” and gestured, sending the demons quickly descending back to Hell.

The angels ascended soon after and the church was empty again except for Crowley and whoever had thrown the cider. Crowley waited for a long moment and turned to look up at the statue. “Thanks.”

“They asked me to tell you that they’re sorry.”

Crowley blinked, to hear a voice whispering so close by, but didn’t look away from the statue. Better to not know who or what had helped them. “Don’t tell them what happened. They’ll feel obligated to tattle.”

“I won’t. And the cursed cider?”

“No. Better we just keep our distance. Tell them I’m sorry too. I hope they’ll forgive me one day.”

“They will.”

Crowley shook their head, finding it hard to believe. Finding everything that had happened hard to believe. Every time they closed their eyes they saw Andras and Raphael escaping their bodies and vanishing skyward together. “Lucky bastards.” Crowley rested their head against the cold stone and awe-stepped away.

Lu-Tze gasped when Crowley pressed their head against the statue and vanished with it. He blinked and shook his head and started the walk back to the bookshop to check on Aziraphale, feeling weary to his very bones. He didn’t bother to knock, using the key he’d taken earlier to let himself in.

Surprisingly Aziraphale was sitting huddled on the couch, looking the worse for wear but aware, and they gave Lu-Tze a very faint attempt of a smile. “I wondered if I’d hallucinated you. I wish I’d hallucinated the rest of it,” they said brokenly.

“Your friend is safe,” Lu-Tze said, filling the kettle and putting it on the stove. “As I promised.”

“Thank you, Lu-Tze. Thank you for everything,” said Aziraphale, pressing a fist to their trembling lips. “They will be safer yet, without me in their life.”

“Perhaps. They wanted me to tell you that they’re sorry.” Lu-Tze stayed by the stove when a broken sob answered them. When the water boiled he poured it over the tea, watching it steep as the angel got themself back together. He poured out a cup of tea and brought it over to Aziraphale, pressing it into their hands. “I can’t say what’s best, only what I know. And I know that you _are_ needed.”

Aziraphale sighed, looking down into the tea. “Yes. That will have to be enough.”

Lu-Tze couldn’t stand to leave it at that, even though he’d done all he’d been sent to do. “There is always hope,” he murmured, holding both of Aziraphale’s hands in his when more tears trailed down the angel’s face. “Don’t forget that, my friend. There is always hope. Hold on to that too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be a lot angstier and darker but I caught a bad case of the feels, so nobody died and they got away to the stars together.


End file.
